The Last Days of Imladris
by Arabella Thorne
Summary: Chapter Four: This is a look at the last days of Rivendell through Elrond's POV
1. Entry One

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This tale comes out of notes I made when I was writing my Dolengil tales of what was happening with Elrond while the War of the Ring took place as Tolkien does not mention the elven lord until after the War.

Here then is a look from Elrond's POV of the events following the departure of the Fellowship.

My House, so recently a beehive of activity is now nigh on empty and silent.

The Fellowship has left today on their journey South and in my heart my spirit wars between hope and despair.

Hope that this precipitous journey to Mordor is successful and despair that on such small shoulders the fate of all of Middle Earth must rest. And against all expectations, if the Ringbearer survives, in what condition will be his soul when his journey is concluded? 

I pray I can at least aid in his recovery.

Are we sending off not only a small hobbit with eight companions, expecting a miracle but are we also sending someone willingly to an unending procession of nightmare and horror? A journey that for him, will never end, come what may?

As the last member slipped out of the courtyard and crossed the Bruinen I looked to my Undomiel, her heart writ large in her eyes as she followed the mortal form of her beloved and my foster son Estel.

By the Valar! Though small this tragedy is compared to the destruction of the One Ring, it is yet one more shadow on what must be my last days here.

Undomiel did not glance at me, though I saw the telltale streak of tears on her cheeks as she and her ladies passed out of the courtyard and into the House. Her eyes touched me not, yet I felt their burn nevertheless.

I almost reached out to her, but I stilled my impulse. This is a dark hour for her and I, and I must leave her to sort out her thoughts.

My steps were heavy as I walked slowly back into the House and into my study here.

I stare at this page, my quill held over the parchment. 

A sinking sensation courses through my spirit as I acknowledge that I must prepare myself for any and all ends, and that ultimately, I will be leaving Imladris.

For no matter the outcome of this roil of Darkness and Sauron's return, I and my kin must leave.

It is, at last, the time of Men.

An end for which I have worked since the death of my beloved Elros. And this means I must leave what has been my home for almost two millenia.

I look around my study as I sit here, all the familiar objects I have seen untold years. Some newer than others of course, and some much much older than the Vale in which my House sits.

I find I cannot sit quietly and I must move about the room, my thoughts milling like a paddock of disturbed horses, moving this way and that.

I walk to the wall opposite my desk and stare at the last tapestry Celebrian wove...it is unfinished and is a view of her favorite garden.

Unfinished. 

Oh my Celebrian! Our lives are both unfinished! I must wait out the execution of my duties that I swore to on the deathbed of my brother that I would complete: the succor and aid of his line of Men and to see them established in strength and glory ere I left. 

It has not been easy to ever be the one to whom people come to for healing and hope. I have dispensed what I could, when I could. 

But it has always assailed me in the deep watches of the night that those who came to me for healing might have been startled to know that the healer himself needed balm as well.

And these years without you my Celebrian, existing with half a heart, have been the hardest of all. The children will never know how grateful I have been for their presence and love. 

And so I have thrown myself into work. Work to aid the Dunedain, to help the strangers seeking counsel and healing. To actively maintain a network of information and vigilance through the auspices of the White Council.

These things have kept me busy and have helped me no end to preserve my purpose in the face of the growing darkness that all the Eldar and Istari have felt.

The Ring! To have returned in the unexpected and unlooked for possession of my dear friend Bilbo Baggins of the Shire!

The unlikeliness of it all certainly preserved it from unfriendly eyes these many years.

And for his cousin Frodo, as merry a hobbit as I have met, a worthy heir of dear Bilbo, to have him bravely stand forth at the Council and declare his williness to carry the loathesome thing all the way to Mordor, did more to give me hope than anything in these dark days.

His coming to me wounded and half-swallowed by the evil of the Morgul blade tested my healing skills as nothing has since the Second Age. 

And when Estel, exhausted and footsore told me what he had done to aid the young hobbit, my heart quailed as I understood the nature of his injury.

But I prevailed and though I have sent this little one off surrounded by a goodly company of companions in as good health as my abilities could devise, I still feel misgivings about his carrying the burden.

Through his recuperation here, I have struggled with my thoughts regarding the fate of that insidious trinket. 

I have the strength and the knowledge to get this pernicious evil to Mordor and yet I send a halfling. An adult in his society but a mere child in the eyes of my people.

But I know too, that I would not do as a Ringbearer as I am already the bearer of one ring, The Ring of Power would corrupt me much sooner than the halfling's pure heart.

The pull of that awful golden band was nigh on painful for me as I tended to the wounded Frodo. It was like a thorn embedded deep in the skin, aching constantly and crying out for removal.

Frodo had no idea how hard it was for I, though wise and ancient, to fight the flaring of desire to take the ring from his small hand and cure the evils of this world.

I am more than thankful that Mithrandir, yet another ringbearer, was here to help me fight the pull of the One as I strove to save Frodo's life. His considerable strength bolstered me, especially when removing the Morgul shard proved so elusive.

Frodo Baggins is more amazing than I had imagined.

I can only pray he succeeds, while I, here in Imladris can do what I can to ensure the safety of my people and those in the North.

Until I heed the call to Valinor.

And leave my beloved Rivendell behind to decay in graceful solitude, a faint legend among the foothills of the Misty Mountains, an ever fading memory of mythical things.

My home.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~to be continued~~~~~~~~~~~~


	2. Entry Two

My home. 

This Imladris of which I have poured so much of my heart and very soul into! The design of the rooms and the views from them, the materials used to construct the House, the gardens, the farms.

It was a lengthy effort, filled with many starts and stops as changes were made and difficulties overcome.

But what I achieved when it was finished!

A place to raise my family far from the troubles and turmoil of the outside world, a haven where peace and solitude were bounded by love and nurturing and the carefree play of my family. Safe and whole.

Until Celebrian...but I will not touch on that now...

My home. 

The first ever that I could call completely my own. A refuge for my people and other souls needing help and healing.

Help and healing and refuge: things that were frequently in short supply in my and my brother's lives.

Oh Elros! I wish you could have seen Imladris! I wish its Homely House could have comforted you in your last years.

I wish, I wish......

Ai! My life cannot be full of frail insubstantial wishes that burst like soap bubbles.

My home.

Do I leave Imladris to the care of my sons, which would be the natural order of things?

My errant sons, my first born, traveling the landscape, ever haunted by the horrors they saw when rescuing their mother. Goaded on by nightmares for which I can give them no surcease.

Their spirits ever restless, they do not stay in Rivendell any longer than necessary these days. They arrive windblown and frequently bloody and dirty (though the blood is very rarely theirs). Perhaps snatch some sleep, re- supply and re-arm themselves and slip out before the sun rises tearing along paths and trails that only they and the Rangers know of on their relentless crusade to divest the world of orcs.

I do not think they want this place of stone and water, a place that once rang with their happy laughter and their quarrels and play. A place that I strove so very hard to make a refuge for all that I love, a place to keep the world at bay as much as I might.

Now it only reminds them continually of what they have lost, especially after I and their sister are gone.

And their sister's fate: does that also provide a whip to their restless spirits? Do they approve in the deep places of their hearts of her choice? They have only ever been supportive of Estel. Because undoubtedly of their great bond of love and camaraderie they have for this last of the Dunadan.

I have spoken little of Undomiel's choice to stay with Estel, come what may. Surely they are a pained as I am.

But I do not know, as they have gone.

At least this time, they have gone to shadow the Fellowship as far South as they might to give me news of their progress. I could not just let them all go off into the dark. Though they have Mithrandir with them and that is a great comfort to me......unspoken words between us must be kept to a minimum as any one could be listening. It disturbs us both that neither of us knows the extent of the Dark Ones abilities at this point.

These are Dark times indeed.

And they are not unexpected. 

I cannot say honestly that I am sad to see their arrival as unusual as that sounds! They force things to a head, and we must gird ourselves for the struggle to come, a struggle all of the Eldar and Istari hoped would never develop.

But having escape us before, and though the Ring was lost, we knew it was not unmade and therefore it was inevitable his evil would return.

Our wishes were foolish hopes, and Sauron has returned. And it has revitalized me somehow to actively confront this darkness. I felt invigorated, shaken out of complacent slumber when I was first brought news that the One Ring had been found----in the Shire!

A thrill of darkness went through me as I realized instantly that a War would soon be upon us and this War would be the last for ill or good that I would partake of in this world.

It was a marker for which I had not hoped.

Here then begins the end of the Third Age.

And the leader of the Fourth Age shall yet be a member of my House, my foster son upon whom so much hope rests---almost as much as the Ringbearer.

Hope—my little Estel----brought here to Imladris as a toddler, he and his mother disheveled and worn with tragedy that Arathorn---husband and father---had been brought down by orcs. Brought down by those foul creatures! The same ones that brought down and destroyed the happiness of my Celebrian. Those dark and twisted souls---vile and loathsome---but still, it pains me to know their origins are Elvish.

Chance brought Estel and Gilraen to me and now chance, ever formidable, has set my youngest on the path to darkness and a confrontation with ageless horror in hopes that he will win through and be King where there has been none for many, many a year.

I wander through the House today aimlessly. And this is so unusual for me that I remark on it here.

I am always busy.

This House holds, at last count, 125 elven souls and there are another 47 in outlying farms and residences. And though the number is lessening daily as many make preparations to leave for the West, still there are plenty to see to.

It is my job to make sure all are fed and cared for. That their needs are seen to. That they have enough supplies to indulge in their endeavors, no matter what they are. Be they music or archery, wood-carving, silver-work, weaving.

I and my counselors must make sure there is plenty on hand for all these tasks.

I am sure many think that being Lord of this House is a job of sober thought and detailed accounting. Of lengthy discussion regarding the fate of all Middle Earth.

That I spend much of my time in study, contemplating deep thoughts and interpreting dreams of foresight, the consequences of actions.....

It is and can be, indeed.

But there is much to do that is entertaining and uplifting, not least of which is singing and calligraphy and illumination. Enjoyments close to my heart.

And healing. 

Healing has ever been a skill that has constantly stretched my mind and abilities and I quite enjoy the conundrum of an unusual illness or the difficult mending of some trauma. As I saw recently with the young hobbit.

I do not get an opportunity to indulge in this often, as the injures that befall the members of my household are few and far between. Admittedly I used my skills a bit more when there were children here in Imladris.

But there were never many. The most we had at one point of similar ages was eight, and two of them were Elladan and Elrohir.

Housing the Dundan from time to time, I was called on to utilize healing a little more frequently as our human brethren are more prone to accident and illness than the Eldar.

It is one of the things I have been grateful for in my dealings with humans. They have ever given me a chance to use my skills! They are frail and curious and so intense which frequently leads then into trouble!

They are so rarely ones for deep thought, but ever action. They are intelligent and clever and can be impetuous and carefree. And it is that, the very whimsy of their thoughts and actions that make me so fond of them.

I place my hope in them now that they will indeed stand forth and take charge in the Age to come.

Then there are the hobbits of the Shire in the person of Bilbo Baggins and the aforementioned young Frodo. The Periannath are a delight! Small, sturdy, a great store of common sense and a wonderful ability to laugh and to enjoy life to the fullest. They are quite elven in spirit!

They are merry souls and a wonderful blessing here in Middle Earth.

I will miss them....and the humans.

But I have not left yet and there is still much to do. 

I await word from my sons and hope that Mithrandir may be able to communicate with me safely at some point.


	3. Entry Three

Rivendell is deep in the throes of winter now and it makes me melancholy, though normally it is always a season I love.  
  
Because things are usually quiet.  
  
The cold and frequent snow allowed the family to turn to indoor pursuits. And I was able to devote myself to reading. I saved any new written materials I acquired over the year for the dark of winter.  
  
Now granted, some tomes were nothing more than healing texts or some such scholarly work. But the historical journals and the sagas were always my favorites.  
  
How I enjoyed reading them aloud to the family by the light of the fire in our suite of rooms.  
  
I was stirring the fire there this afternoon and the wind howling down the chimney was so mournful, echoing the sadness in my heart. My family has dissipated like snow in spring.  
  
I realize I have not gotten anything worth reading in some time, as the rising of the Dark has consumed most of my attention (and made getting books difficult). So I will settle with an old favorite when I am done here- ---The Lay of Beren and Luthien.  
  
Standing at the window that looks north into the winter remains of my private garden, my breath frosts up the glass as I stare down into the soft lumpy shapes in their cowl of white.  
  
I can hear even now, the squeals of the children down there. How they loved snow fights and building snow elves! And then they would come in all rosy with icy cheeks and demand tight hugs and hot tea with lots of honey.  
  
And even Estel, when he was young, loved playing there, especially if he could persuade Elladan or Elrohir or both to play with him.  
  
The winter cold always brought us closer together and now, all I can feel is bereft and consumed by sorrowl.  
  
Oh this is enough melancholy and introspection!  
  
I need to see how things are going in the kitchens and the stables.  
  
We have another group of 20 leaving for the Grey Havens in a week. And I must make sure everything is coming along for their departure.  
  
And then there is the Farewell Feast to arrange: all the travelers get to pick a favorite dish to have as a small remembrance of their last meal here.  
  
And even though departure signals the end of their lives within the confines of my refuge, almost all hearts are glad for we long for healing of the West.  
  
Almost all.  
  
With every Feast, I remember Celebrian's leave-taking.  
  
She was too ill to join the others in the main dining hall. And because I had to, as Lord of Imladris, make a brief appearance in the hall to toast her fellow travelers, I hated the fact I could not spend the whole evening with her and my family.  
  
The other elves understood why I did not tarry long in the hall.  
  
My beautiful love, she could not even sit up comfortably for long. She lay in the solarium on a couch, propped up by the softest pillows and covered with a quilt Arwen had made her, decorated with purple velvet iris, which she adored.  
  
Celebrian had not much appetite and though I tried to tempt her with an array of her favorite foods, she only tasted them all, no pleasure in her eyes, though she smiled as each of us offered her a tidbit.  
  
And the children all quiet, afraid if one word escaped, there would be such a wailing of grief. And we had all sworn to be as cheerful as we could manage---and if we could not manage cheerfulness, then to remain silent.  
  
What a strained meal that was. How miserable all our hearts were.  
  
But we tried, for Celebrian's sake.  
  
Our last night together until I left for the West, which we both knew would not be for some time, was awash in desperation and longing.  
  
Hopeless longing that we might change things and desperation because we knew this would be our last night touching and loving here in Imladris.  
  
We just held each other tightly and our tears mingled all the night.  
  
Oh my sweet Celebrian.  
  
It has been many hundreds of years, but still I see so clearly your smile, the light of love in your eyes, hear your laughter, feel the beautiful silk of your hair and skin.  
  
And so much in this House reminds me of you to this day. I could not bear to hide away too many of the things that were dear to you.  
  
Though, once back from the Grey Havens, consumed by grief, there was one night when I raged through our rooms, flinging the bedclothes, knocking over your loom and smashing at a moment of high grief, your favorite vase.  
  
I can write this here, after all these years. And how grateful I was that no one heard my angry cries. Or saw me kneel and pick up the shards and crush them in my hands until they bled.  
  
No one even asked about the rough bandage the next day.  
  
Soon, I know I shall see you soon, and that more than anything will get me through my last days here among the willows and the water and the gardens of Imladris.  
  
Imladris, no longer a balm to my soul, but a constant reminder of what I have accomplished and what I leave behind.  
  
Glorfindel has entered with his reports no doubt, and I must listen. 


	4. Entry Four

I am sorry to say several weeks have gone by. It is late winter. But even so, I can smell the turn of the seasons on the wind as it shakes snow down from the high places.

My sons have come back to let me know that the Fellowship had attempted to ascend Caradhras, but it seems unusual weather created by the traitorous Saruman forced them off the mountain. It worries me that he is already harrying their footstep.

They are going to go through the mines of Moria, based on a conversation Elladan heard between Estel and Mithrandir, but Elrohir says Boromir was urging them to go to Minas Tirith.

So I will still hope to hear from Mithrandir at some point, but I know, the further South the Fellowship goes, the more dangerous communication becomes.

The twins also brought a few other surprises when they returned late two nights ago.

Elladan had a nasty orc slash to his upper arm (luckily not poisoned) and Elrohir's mount was limping from a bad scrape on its left forward hock.

But the biggest surprise was the little bundle that Elladan held before him---a small boy of about six years old. Apparently the only survivor of the orc attack that injured Elladan and Elrohir's horse.

The little one is not injured save for a few cuts and bruises. He had received a hard knock on the head and been hidden under his family's over turned cart.

Elladan said they were refugees fleeing north from some Southern village and were beset by a small band of orcs.

The child's name is Banlus. He has sandy brown hair and enormous blue eyes. He has much of the look of Rohan about him.

Elladan only needed a few stitches and some rest, which I insisted on. I actually made him drink a soporific. At least I shall be assured he will get several hours of sleep. He was not happy about it, but complied. It is good to know he still respects his father's wishes on occasion!

Once I had seen to Elladan, I went and found our guest eating soup and bread with Elrohir in my study.

Elrohir smiled around his mug of winter ale and nudged his small companion.

"My father Banlus."

The little one, obviously tired, crawled out of his seat and made a very credible attempt at a bow. "Good evening, Lord Elrond."

Thanking him for his courtesy, I welcomed him to Rivendell and went and got a glass of wine and drank it slowly standing by the fire watching the two finish eating.

Elrohir finishing first pushed back from the table and looked at me with a smile.

"I shall leave you two then. Banlus be a good boy for my father. He just needs to tend to your scrapes and bruises. I need to see Elladan."

Banlus nodded, head down, watching his feet slowly kick back and forth.

But just as Elrohir turned to leave, the young one jumped down from the table and hugged my son tightly.

Elrohir ruffled his hair and picking him up, brought him over to me.

I took the painfully thin boy and held him carefully as he reared back in my arms uncertain.

"Ada won't bite Banlus. He'll be very gentle."

"'kay." Banlus looked down at the small piece of roll in his hand and then stuffed it into his mouth with a smile.

I took the child into my surgery and sat him on the table.

So quiet a mouse! He let me undress him and lay him down on the table, though he was understandably nervous while I examined him.

I told him everything I was doing and was very careful to cause as little pain as possible while cleaning his injuries.

The only injury of any note was the lump (already fading) on the back of his head. I sent a strong surge of energy into his small skull to speed the healing further.

When I was finished I used the hot water that is always in the surgery and gently bathed him.

He helped me by doing his face and hands. Since I had no fresh tunic for him, I wrapped him in a clean towel and took him down the hall.

He yawned as I held him and suddenly relaxed, half-asleep.

It has been so long since I have held such a little one.

I took him to a spare room near the twin's suites and told him where we were if he should waken in the night.

Laying him under the quilt, his enormous eyes blinked sleepily at me and he yawned again. I put a hand to his head and he returned to his slumbers.

I admit, I lingered, lighting a slow burning candle so he would not be afraid 

if he should awaken. I also left him a glass of water in case he should be thirsty.

Just as I was leaving, I paused again.

Banlus was so small in the bed.

The next night, Elrohir and I sat in the main dining hall. Elladan, who was more tired than he thought, had taken a meal in his room. I would check on him later.

Banlus had joined us and was sitting on a chair with a pile of pillows on it between Elrohir and I. He was attacking his food with good appetite. Laughing, I had to slow him down a few times to keep him from choking.

A glance around the room made me sigh deeply.

So few elves! Perhaps less than a hundred now. I shall have to check my list of those who have left. I have not had the heart to count the numbers leaving recently.

It is like bleeding.

What will become of Imladris if my sons do not wish to take on its stewardship?

What purpose would Imladris serve once all the elves have gone? 

My sons insist not all will leave. Even now, not all are ready for the glories of Valinor. But I cannot imagine them lingering for long. We are a race that has served its purpose here in Middle Earth. 

But Elladan told me he felt the elves declined like an old tree, losing leaves and limbs, but remaining alive nevertheless, the roots deep into the soil.....

We shall see who is right sooner rather than later.

Reading what I have just written, I shake my head at such melancholy. There is still much to do.

I watch Banlus who at the moment is playing with some old wooden soldiers of the twins on the rug before the fire here in the study.

I will need to come up with a solution for him.

But more importantly, the Ring has not reached its goal and been destroyed nor has it been taken by the Dark Lord.

All hangs by a thread: one small hobbit---made of steel.

If anyone can do this, he will.

I can only hope the Dark Lord cannot expect such a frontal assault from someone whom he would undoubtedly see as insignificant under normal circumstances.

And this is what I and other members of the White Council hope for. That Sauron's overweening pride will blind him to the ones making their way to his heart.

I know Estel will do all he can, and Legolas and Gimli—brave hearts all. Boromir's strength and purpose are unsettled in my mind. But one hopes he will come around.

And Meriadoc and Pippin. There are a couple of unlikely heroes as well. They will undoubtedly help Frodo and Sam just by their sheer exuberance and energy.

Which Iluvatar knows they will need before this journey is finished.

So here I sit in my study, candlelight dancing over the cream colored parchment, shining on the edge of the wet ink until it dries.

Banlus is making small voices for his soldiers and I occasionally hear the clink of one falling to the rug.

We have a little one in Imladris once more.

What will I do with such a one at this point in time? The world is all unsettled and the Light and the Dark stand on a knife edge, balancing. And he plays with toys, all unaware. As it should be.

And I myself am not long for Imladris! Once the fate of the Ring is settled, I shall leave. Mayhap in a year or two.

Perhaps when the Light has triumphed as I know in my heart it will, relatives of Banlus can be discovered.

In the meantime, I shall see if there are anymore of the twins small clothes in storage.

And I am not sure, but there may still be some ponies in the high paddocks.

I will finish here for now, as Arwen has come in to call us to the midday meal. I had not realized it was so late.

Banlus quickly jumped up and came over to me, eyes shining, anxious to go.

He is a hungry little bear!

And I find I am too.


End file.
